Brutus

Brutus can’t remember a time in his life where he didn't have a weapon in hand. From the moment he could wield a blade, he fought. He never questioned his life as a swordsman, its just the way his life was.

While those adept with blades were common in the world they lived, Brutus’ abilities were exceptional. Word quickly spread of a boar-faced swordsman who could swiftly dispatch beasts of any size. From dragons, to griffins, to manticores, Brutus’ blade could retrieve the head of any monster. He was often hired by small villages he passed through, or called to distant lands by great nobles who sought his abilities.

Brutus was willing to take most any job he deemed would benefit the people. His blade slew many monsters, but never retrieved the head of another man. Brutus drew the line at taking the life of humans and subhumans. While this was a nuisance to nobles, they knew better than to hire him for jobs that required as such. He was no murderer, but a righteous hero despite his villainous face.

He traveled frequently, whether he was on a hunt or between one, Brutus was always on the move. He met many people in his travels, and those who weren't scared off by his appearance were charmed by his smiles and gentle demeanor. Children weaved flowers into his hair and widows would call him over to help lift a wagon and fix its broken wheel. He was beloved by all.

Though with his frequent traveling, he didn’t often meet the same people twice. People moved village, faces were forgotten, and paths simply didn’t cross again. However, this was not the case for one man. Constantly, as if guided by the hand of fate, Brutus constantly crossed paths with one bard with bright red hair and glowing green eyes. Lucke was a constant presence throughout Brutus’s life. From when he was a fledgeling swordsman in his late teens to his hardened 40s after long hard battles. Lucke was always there in his life, unchanging throughout the years. The two traveled together from time to time, and Brutus’ likeness was often heard in the bard’s songs. Lucke was a true friend to Brutus, and one he couldn't shake if he wanted to. .

Brutus’s life continued on into his 40’s and his age wouldn’t be the thing that slowed him down. In the past few years, beasts and monsters had been growing more and more rampant for unknown reasons. Some believed Maelmir was growing restless, or perhaps the gods' forces were weakening. A noble conscripted Brutus’s aide in defeating these demonic beasts and destroying their nests. Brutus gladly agreed to the mark, and set out to hunt the source.

Brutus had expected to find a typical nest of beasts in some ravine or muckland swamp, but no. When Brutus reported back what he had found, a zealot of Maelmir was summoning demonic beasts and monsters alike to reign terror on the lands, he didn't know what he thought the noble would say. The man simply told Brutus to bring him the zealot’s head. Outraged at the idea of taking another man’s life, Brutus refused to continue the mark. The Noble insisted that it was for the greater good. One man killed to save the lives of those his summoned beasts would surely destroy. Reluctantly, Brutus agreed and later brought back that zealot’s head.

This was the first time Brutus would bring home the head of another man, but it was far from the last. Over the next ten years, nobles and kings caught on that the boar’s hand could be forced if they lauded the greater good over his head. Soon enough, his hands became stained red with the blood of men. These lives he had taken haunted Brutus, but he forced himself to move forwards. Times were changing and men were just as monstrous as the monsters he once hunted.

Brutus often sought out Lucke and confided in him when things became too much. Lucke never offered advice unless Brutus explicitly asked for it. But after ten years of watching his friend anguish over his redenning hands, Lucke couldn't watch anymore. Lucke took Brutus’s clawed hands in his own and told his friend to follow his heart. If Brutus believed he could no longer listen to these nobles, to follow their ideals of greater good and lesser evil, then he shouldn't. The two held each other into the night, and by morning Brutus had made up his mind.

The next time a king called on Brutus, lauding the greater good over his head, Brutus stood steadfast and refused. He was tired of taking lives. To his surprise, the king sighed and conceded. Later, the king called on him again, offering Brutus ajob of slaying some manticore terrorizing a town to the east. Brutus took the job, unknowing that he was going straight into a trap. When he arrived, all he saw before him was carnage. Men, women and children speared through with a blade, lying about dead in pools of blood. Brutus’s heart broke at the sight, kneeling down to cradle a child’s head in his hand, gone too soon. It was then that knights and paladins surrounded him, rushing towards the Hoglin with blades drawn and shields raised. The insignia on the shields was that of the king who sent him here.

Brutus went pale as he was captured, imprisoned, blamed for the carnage, and sentenced to death. The king visited him only once in his cell as he sat shackled and defeated. The man simply told Brutus that he had outlived his purpose. Brutus lashed out huffing and snarling at the man, held back by silver chains. The king only sneered, telling Brutus he would be slaughtered like the hog he was.

The very next dawn, Brutus was led to the guillotine. He couldn't raise his eyes to the crowd as the king listed off the crimes Brutus didn’t commit, as he was blamed for the slaughter of an entire village. Brutus was shoved down to the guillotine and he raised his eyes to the crowd only once. His bright white eyes met glowing green. He smiled at his friend as the blade fell, severing his head from his body.

Brutus jerked awake with a shout, his whole body burning with pain. He knew he had died, he was certain, but-- Hovered above him, Red hair spilling over his shoulders, glowing green eyes brimmed with tears, was Lucke. Brutus was pulled to Lucke’s chest as the redhead sobbed into his shoulder. It hit Brutus now that he had died, and Lucke had watched it happen.

Brutus was only alive now because of Lucke. The man had looked the same since the day Brutus met him, not from some “lucky genetics” but from literal immortality. Immortality that he had somehow given to Brutus as well, though it had cost him. Lucke insisted his humanity was a very small price to pay for keeping Brutus around, but Brutus couldn't help but be amazed by the gesture. Subhumans like Brutus were rarely treated kindly, and Brutus had hardly been allowed to travel as he pleased through courts and kingdoms because of it. For a bard like Lucke, it could’ve been devastating, but the man hadn’t even hesitated for a moment.

Things weren’t sunshine and rainbows though after Brutus had revived. Brutus was plagued with nightmares of his death, had no idea who he could trust other than Lucke, and he had been publicly executed, barring him from moving around in public. Brutus chose to hide himself away for a couple years, hoping it all blew over.

The next years were unkind to him, as he was forced to constantly look over his shoulder, terrified of being hunted down by anyone who may’ve caught on to his alive-ness. He lost count the number of times he almost hurt Lucke for approaching behind him too swiftly or quietly. Or how many times he jolted awake from a nightmare, gasping for breath and clutching the scar that wrapped around his neck. Lucke could only watch for so long. He gifted Brutus a scarf. It was simple, unenchanted and shockingly normal. Lucke just wrapped it around his friend’s neck, covering the scar and giving him a small smile like it was nothing. The pain and fear began to ebb away with a few years of no incident, but it would never be fully gone.

Brutus wanted to go back to the way life was, but he knew nothing would be the same again. The first time Brutus left it was just for a few minutes, then a few minutes more the next day, until he could leave the house for an hour. Some days he would feel fear grip his lungs, and he couldn’t do anything but hide indoors all day. It was a slow process, but progress nonetheless.

After 10 years of this, Brutus felt he was ready to step out a little further. Lucke donned him with one of his own cloaks, green and enchanted. It was a simple enchantment, all it did was give some minor luck to anyone who wore it, but this meant the world to Brutus.

Over the years, Brutus slowly but surely re-entered the world. He couldn’t be the same man he once was, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to. While it took him ten years to even leave the woods, it took him a quarter century to even pick up his blade again. He was out of practice but it came back to him slowly and surely.